


The Alchemist's Son

by guyi (yujael)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Mute Gavin, got some magic floating in there, or alchemy, they're the same thing in this world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-18 05:04:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yujael/pseuds/guyi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the moment Gavin comes into his life, Michael knows something is off about him. Gavin can't make sound, hasn't spoken a single word in his entire life. They get around that, though, they learn to communicate, to speak with hands and eyes. Gavin opens up to Michael, but there's still a shadow over him, things he won't even write about. His mother. Alchemy.</p>
<p>Something is wrong. Michael doesn't need to read Gavin's expressions to know that, and he's determined to find out what the alchemist has been hiding since the day she brought her family to the north.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the anon on tumblr who wanted a mute!Gavin story. I'm sorry it's taking so long; I saw a plot and clung to it, so it's longer than I intended.

There's a house on the outskirts of the village built near the bottom of the hill that separates them from the tundra. The family that lives there moved to the village a few years ago, and back then Michael used to avoid it like the plague.

But now he's sneaking down the road and tip toeing around the back of the house. The sun isn't up yet and the wind bites his skin, but he's used to it, feels it almost every morning. The only other people who're up this early are the watchmen and the boy who's face appears in the window to tell Michael to wait with a flourish of his hand. Michael nods and Gavin disappears, and a moment later the door creaks open just enough for Gavin to slip through in all his layers. 

Michael smiles at him and reaches out to fix his green scarf. “You're going to freeze your mouth off, idiot.”

Gavin smiles back, and his only reply is to grab Michael's hand and tug him away from the house. Michael lets himself be led away, and they start climbing the hill together silently. Snow fell last night, but their usual path is still visible. When they reach the top they look out over the white expanse on the other side. Half the sky is an inky blue, the remaining stars blinking out, and the other half is starting to turn a rosy hue.

Gavin lets go of his hand to clear away snow, and when they have a big enough patch they both sit down facing the village to watch it slowly come to life. Michael likes watching the flickering lights appear behind each window as the residents relight their fireplaces again, bringing warmth into their chilly houses. He brings Gavin along because he likes the company, likes not having to listen with his ears for once. He comes from a family of hunters; everything is about listening and watching. With Gavin, though, it's mostly just watching.

“We're leaving to hunt today,” Michael says softly, reminding both of them. He won't be back for a couple days. “Are you sure you don't want to come? You'd be pretty good with a bow.”

He asks every time, but he always gets the same response. 

Gavin shakes his head and pats Michael's hand. _Be careful_ , he says without moving his lips. 

“I'm always careful,” Michael tells him. He's always listening, watching vigilantly, ever since his first real encounter with an ice wraith on the other side of the hill. 

Gavin nods, and for another few moments they watch the sky get lighter while the sun rises. Then Gavin brings his hands up to pull his scarf back down around his neck. When Michael turns Gavin pulls his scarf away, too. 

“What are you doing?” Michael asks as the cold air attacks his lips, gets down in his throat. Not for long, though, because Gavin's leaning over and closing the distance, and his mouth is warm on Michael's. Michael closes his eyes and lets Gavin's tongue slide over his lower lip, then in, warm, and when he opens his eyes again Gavin has pulled back just far enough to smile and rest his forehead against Michael's.

_Come back safe_ , he says without a sound. 

“Don't worry about me,” Michael murmurs with the barest nod. Gavin breathes a sigh through his nose and leans back to pull his scarf up again. Michael mimics him, and they watch as small figures begin slipping out of their homes now that the darkness is leaving.

“Ready to go back?” Michael asks when the sun has fully risen. Gavin nods and they both stand up, dusting snow off their pants. Before they head down to the village again Michael glances over his shoulder at the tundra, the white wasteland that practically glitters in the sun. 

He has an odd sense of safety despite the dangers of being so close to it. Like the hill isn't a part of it, nor the village. A place outside of it all where Michael can swear he hears a voice sometimes, even though he knows it's impossible.

–

He's fourteen years old when an alchemist settles in their little ice town with her family. She has a daughter and two sons, but nobody's sure where their father is. The woman doesn't say. She just invites her new neighbors in to talk for a bit and sends her children outside. 

Isaac is a year older than Michael, Gavin is a year younger, and Alice is another two years younger. They look green – that's what the villagers call them, anyway. They were born in the south, but their mother's interested in ice, so they came here. It's obvious that they're not used to cold like this where they came from, not even in winter. The village kids shrug that off. These green kids can shiver all they like, but as long as they can understand jokes and think sliding down snow banks and ice fishing is fun, they can fit in pretty good.

Isaac takes to their ideas like a frost fox to snow, and his little sister follows him around like her life depends on it, but Gavin... is kind of an odd ball. There's something about him that throws Michael off, and the others catch it too. When they ask, though, Isaac and Alice always say there's nothing wrong.

“Gavin's shy, and he doesn't like the cold, that's why he doesn't come out all the time,” they say. The village kids don't ask any farther; they don't really care. Gavin's a weird kid as far as they're concerned, so if he's going to avoid them, they're going to avoid him.

When Gavin does make the journey past his front door, he's still never far from his house. The family lives in the old building at the bottom of the hill; it used to be empty because it's so close to the tundra, but Gavin's mother sees no problem with that. She uses the proximity to help with her research, and since Michael only sees Gavin outside once or twice a week, he assumes that Gavin helps his mother with her alchemy until she kicks him out and forces him to actually interact with something outside.

He sees Gavin follow his brother and sister around for a bit, but he'll inevitably end up back in the shadow of his house, waiting until his mother lets him back in. He watches the kids playing around, and it gives Michael a really creepy feeling that he doesn't like. Why the hell won't the kid just come out and talk to someone instead of standing there watching them all? It bothers Michael, but he doesn't go up and ask, mostly because Gavin's eyes are weird. They're brown and green and big like his nose, and it's especially creepy when he's got a vibrant scarf wrapped around his neck that isn't even on right. It's too long and it doesn't even cover his lips from the cold. Lips that he doesn't even move. 

So Michael turns away from him and goes to play on the snow banks. Isaac and Alice are way more fun, anyway. They laugh and play with everyone else, and they take to living in the north a lot quicker than any of them expected. 

And Gavin just kind of... fades into that shadow behind his house for a long time. The odd kid that nobody wants to talk to because he never says anything for himself.

–

The only real meaning summer and winter have here is the fact that there are bears in the summer and foxes in the winter. There's always snow on the ground and chill winds whistling between the icicles. There's always an ice wraith or two that the hunters keep their eyes on, and there's always that guy who stands away from everyone else. 

He's not always next to the house anymore, but he doesn't fool around in the snow either. At least not when others are around, because Michael's seen him in the field, sliding down the hill behind his house again and again, all by himself. Nobody else goes on the hill. The hunters don't go that way and the kids don't like going near the alchemist's house. They're wary of the boy with piercing eyes and the scarf that's never on right. The green kid who still shivers a lot and watches everyone else.

His brother and sister have tried to pull him along when they go around the village with their friends, but Gavin always sets people on edge. He doesn't say anything, and whenever someone asks him a question his brother answers instead. They don't push him, though, and if he wants to go back they let him go.

A rumor starts going around the village. People say to each other that Gavin has never spoken a single word since he got to the village. He passed as shy before, but that was a long time ago. Maybe he's sick, or maybe he's too dumb. 

Michael's mother says that he talks to his mother inside, or... maybe he just can't say anything. But Michael thinks that's stupid. Everybody can talk. It's been a year, maybe more. There's no reason Gavin should be shy anymore, and he's not stupid if he can understand alchemy.

So, on the day Michael finally gets fed up with the tingling feeling in the back of his neck, the feeling he gets whenever Gavin's eyes are on him from any distance, he turns around and strides determinedly over to him. 

“How come you're always over here?” Michael asks, standing right in front of Gavin, who looks surprised to have someone so close. He just stares at Michael, and his hands move, fingers dancing in the air without stopping. “I see you out here when nobody else is,” Michael continues when he gets no answer. “If you want to play around, why don't you come out when everyone else is here?”

Gavin doesn't answer, again. His hands stop moving, and he hangs his head, embarrassed, his cheeks even rosier than before. He looks lonely.

“If you want to be friends with people, all you have to do is talk to them, idiot,” Michael says, rolling his eyes. “What's so fucking hard about that? How come you don't want to talk to people?”

Gavin doesn't move; doesn't move his hands, his head, his eyes. He stares at the ground, and his lips are hidden behind his scarf. Michael waits for an answer, proof that those rumors are bullshit, but he doesn't get one, and for some reason it feels like a punch in the gut.

“Fine,” he snaps. “Stand there for all I care; you really are as stupid as they say.”

Gavin's head comes up after that, but Michael's already turning around, doesn't see the look on his face. He hears the crunch of snow under Gavin's boot as he takes a step forward, and a weird, faint rattling sound, but then Gavin stops, and whatever he might have said is lost in a gust of wind.

Michael walks away, and he doesn't look back to see how far Gavin followed him. 

–

Something changes after that. Michael sees Gavin in the corner of his eye every day, and it feels like he's getting closer with each passing day, shuffling even farther from the shadow of his house until a week later he's standing only a few feet away from Michael. 

They're out in the field opposite the hill; they can see it on the other side of the roofs, but most of them avoid it because the alchemist lady lives there with her son. The field is a good enough place for a tournament, anyway, and Michael's helping a couple of the younger kids gather snowballs when he sees Gavin inching closer.

“What do you want?” He asks the boy, who's still as quiet as ever.

Gavin shrugs, his face partially hidden behind his scarf. He bends down and takes a couple handfuls of snow, pats them into a firm ball, and then holds it out to Michael.

“Do you want to join us?” Michael asks, eying the snowball.

Gavin nods quickly, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he waits for a response. Michael looks over his shoulder at the people behind him; some of them are only glancing their way, and others are staring outright. He turns back to Gavin, who's also watching him. They all want to what he'll say to the weird kid. 

“Fine, then,” Michael says with a huff. He takes Gavin's snowball and adds it to the pile in the crook of his arm. “Just don't make crappy snowballs and don't make us lose.”

Gavin nods again, and Michael hears the others start whispering. He turns around and marches back to the fort that Jack's building and Gavin follows him, picking up snow here and there to make more projectiles. When they get there, he tells Gavin to just crouch behind the wall and not wreck anything; this is one of the last forts Jack's going to get to make for a long time, because when he turns sixteen he'll join his family in their carpentry shop. Michael doesn't want to ruin it for him and neither does anyone else, so they have to make sure Gavin doesn't do anything stupid. 

Jack's voice rises above all the others as he shouts that the time's up, and it only takes another few seconds for everyone to get to their fort. Then the snowballs are flying and the younger kids are letting out long battle cried as they charge across the field. They're all taken out by their older friends who are actually concentrating, but their laughter rings out all the same.

Gavin stays crouched behind he wall, watching the snow sailing over his head. Some kids are obviously trying to aim low enough to hit him, but they're all missing. A few moments later, though, Michael glances at his feet to see Gavin shifting toward their pile of snowballs. 

“What are you doing?” Michael almost yells at him. Before he can do anything else, Gavin grabs a ball, stands up, and then lobs it at the other fort. Michael watches it go, and he almost gapes when it hits a kid in square the face. So he actually _can_ do something, he thinks.

When Gavin turns to grab another snowball, Michael can see the smile on his face because his scarf is dropping again, and he can see the glimmer in his eyes. The expression is almost foreign on his face.

Then Gavin tosses a second handful of snow, and Michael snaps out of his trance. He bends down to get his own weapon, and Gavin stands next to him as they throw snowballs until the other team all ducks behind their fort. By then, Michael's entire team is laughing and cheering for their inevitable victory – and he hears that faint rattling sound again, too. 

He looks over at Gavin, who's practically dancing on the spot, and he hears the short bursts of air coming from his mouth, which is stretched in a wide grin. The sound only stops when Gavin takes a breath, and then it starts again. It sound kind of like...

“What are you doing?” Michael asks him, a small frown on his face.

Gavin turns to him and gives him a confused look.

“That thing you're doing,” Michael says, trying to get his point across to the idiot. “Is that supposed to be a laugh?”

Gavin stares at him in complete silence – and the the light in his eyes dies out, and all the happiness in his face drains away. He hangs his head and puts a hand over his chest, his lips shut tight.

And then Michael feels cold inside, feels like someone dropped a rock in his stomach. “Can't you...” his voice drops off and he swallows before trying again. “Can't you make sound?”

Gavin just stares at the ground, his lips hidden behind his scarf and not a single word coming from his mouth. Even though Michael's wearing layers he feels colder than ever. He felt like he was punched in the stomach before, but now it's like someone put their fist right in his chest.

The other team lets out fresh battle cries and a snowball collides with the side of Michael's head, but he doesn't react to it, barely registers that they're still in a snowball fight. Everything is cold and quiet, all narrowed down to one thing:

Gavin can't make sound. 

Michael thinks back to all the times Isaac and Alice answered questions for their brother, because Gavin wouldn't say anything for himself. _Can't_. He _can't_ say anything for himself. And his mother knows – she told him that Gavin isn't sick or stupid.

Gavin's not stupid, Michael realizes. _He_ is, and it took him so long to figure it out.

But by the time he reaches that conclusion, Gavin is already gone, running back from the field, back to the shadow of his house.

\--

He doesn't see Gavin again for a few days. He's probably hiding in his room or went back to helping his mother with alchemy, or whatever he does inside. But then he's back one day, clinging to the wall, watching people walk back and forth. Michael glances at him from the corner of his eye a few times, waits to see if he'll come out again, but he doesn't, and Michael finally breaks away from the group when the feeling eating at his insides gets too uncomfortable. 

Gavin doesn't look surprised to see him coming this time. The expression on his face remains flat, even when Michael's standing right in front of him.

Michael clears his throat, and he only starts speaking when he's sure that Gavin won't run off immediately. “I'm sorry about what I said before,” he says, pulling the words out. “I didn't... know. Nobody knows. Why didn't you tell anyone – I mean, write it down or something?”

Gavin stares at his feet sheepishly for a moment, and then he slowly lifts his hand and points at the wall behind him. 

Michael frowns, trying to figure out his meaning. “Because of... did your ma tell you not to?”

Gavin nods once, but he only looks up again when after Michael is silent for more than a few seconds. He meets Michael's eyes with a questioning expression. Michael's seen it before. _What do you want?_

He wants to know what Gavin's mother has to do with this, wants to know why she wouldn't want any of the kids to know her son can't speak, but he has the feeling that he won't get a straight answer even if it's written down. He peeks through the window near Gavin's head, wondering if the alchemist can hear him. 

“I'm sorry for calling you stupid,” Michael says quietly. “I... shouldn't have said that just because you can't talk. I can make it up to you – the others think you're screwed up in the head, but if they knew – what?” He breaks off as Gavin shakes his head quickly. He's watching Michael with fear in his eyes. “You don't want anyone to know?”

Gavin keeps shaking his head, and Michael can't help but feel even more guilty. He's probably scared that the other kids will make fun of him even more if they learn that he _can't_ talk instead of just not wanting to like everyone believes. 

“So you'd rather just let them walk all over you and let your brother answer all their questions?” Michael asks. He doesn't like the sound of that anymore than the secrecy around Gavin's muteness. But who's he to decide how Gavin handles his situation?

“Well...” he glances at the window again, and then over his shoulder. He can't see them, but he can hear his friends' voices. When he faces Gavin again, his mind is made up. “Then if you don't want to go over there, I'll just stand here with you.”

And that's what he does. Gavin looks downright shocked, but he doesn't do anything in protest, and once Michael is standing against the wall with Gavin, he doesn't move.

I'll make it up to him, he thinks resolutely. Gavin's stood here alone for a year, and he can keep clinging to this wall, but Michael's going to be with him. 

When he looks over, searches for a trace of fear still in Gavin's face, Michael sees a tiny smile on his face instead, and maybe a bit of light returning to his eyes.

–

His friends notice it immediately. They see Michael standing with Gavin beside the alchemist's house and they call to him, wish him good luck with the weird kid. Michael ignores those comments, and a few days later Alice hugs him around the waist and whispers a thank you – thank you for being with him, even though you weren't supposed to know. 

And that confuses Michael, makes him wonder why they try so hard to keep it all quiet, but he doesn't ask. He remembers the fear on Gavin's face, and he isn't sure if it's because of the other kids, or if it's actually because of his mother. He doesn't want to push it, though, and he settles on trying to learn to understand the ways Gavin tries to communicate with him. 

It's slow in the beginning; he learns quickly that he needs to watch all of Gavin's movements, not just his waving arms and his fingers dancing around each other. The expressions on his face, the way his lips move, too, imitating words he can't speak. 

It's difficult and on the brink of the most aggravating thing that Michael has ever experienced, but he does it because he only has two other options: storm off, or try to convince Gavin to write his message down – Michael's asked, and Gavin has refused every time, not allowing himself to even write in the snow on the ground. He'll only glance back at his house and then repeat his motions. 

Despite this, Michael doesn't give up. He knows he'll never forgive himself if he does. He thinks about the lonely figure in the shadows, and the shame on Gavin's face when Michael figured out his muteness, and... he never wants to see it again. He likes to see Gavin happy, even if his only words are in the wild movements of his arms and his laughter is nothing more than bursts of air from the back of his throat. 

Michael reminds himself that he comes from a family of hunters. Listening is useless when he's with Gavin, but watching is imperative and he knows how to do that. He can catch the tiny movements in Gavin's shoulders – like they're the lilts in his voice – and he after a time he can easily catch the shape of the words from his lips. 

Most days they'll stand beside Gavin's home, but sometimes Michael can convince Gavin to venture along the outskirts of the village again, walking slowly so that he can catch all the movements, and there are times when Gavin will tug his hand and point at the hill behind his house. People avoid it, so they can stand on the top by themselves and look down at everything below, just an endless expanse of white on one side and the tiny village up against the forest on the other side. It's quiet and calm, and for some reason Michael feels like he can understand Gavin better when they stand on the hill.

And as the days go by, Gavin moves faster; as Michael stands next to him almost everyday he has more to say. Some of it's lost, but Michael thinks he gets the gist of it. 

Gavin has a lot to say, Michael realizes, so much to say, and once or twice Michael has left his house to find Gavin already coming to find him. He opens up to Michael and he doesn't shiver as much, doesn't watch people pass him by with dull eyes. And yet... Michael still feels like there's a shadow hanging over Gavin, things he refuses to touch on, topics that he'll just shake his head at when they're brought up.

His mother. Alchemy. 

Michael decides that he isn't going to just watch and listen. He'll coax Gavin out of his shell – pull him out if he has to – because something is wrong. There's so much secrecy. Weeks go by and the kids around them still don't know that Gavin is mute. They still think he's shy, still think he speaks only to his family and Michael, and speaks very quietly outside so no one else can hear him, the stupid things he says while waving his arms over his head like a lunatic. It's not right, and he's determined to fix it. 

So he leaves his house everyday and stands next to Gavin in the shadow of the alchemist's house, and he'll watch – listen – for the things Gavin has to say, and once day he'll get good enough at reading Gavin's movements to finally learn the answer...

… But then one day Gavin doesn't come outside. Not that day, not the next one, nor the one after that. It feels like weeks to Michael, but no more than a few days pass, and when he finally does see Gavin again, he doesn't need to decipher hand motions to know that something is wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for being extremely late with this (and also for my shitty ending).

People around the village have grown used to seeing Gavin standing next to his house, and they notice his absence quickly. Isaac and Alice are back to answering questions, and they tell people that their brother caught a bad cold. Winter's coming on, so it's completely plausible, and Michael doesn't find the chance to go and make sure – he's sixteen now, and he's been spending more time learning how to use his eyes and ears in the forest instead of with Gavin.

As he watches the cloudy night sky outside his window from his bed, he decides to give it more time. If Gavin's sick then there's nothing he can do but wait it out. If it's something else, he'll wait a few more days and then go looking.

Just as he makes that decision, however, something scratches against his window. He freezes and watches the foggy glass, and then he sees something dark and thin scratching the surface outside. His first thought is _ice wraith_ – but no, an ice wraith wouldn't come so close to the houses, and one of their claws would be like an icicle, not a... stick? Michael gets out of bed cautiously and goes to his window, and what he sees on the other side almost shocks him.

It's Gavin. He's knocking on the window pane with a stick in one hand while the other holds his scarf tight around his face. The wind is blowing harshly and snow lashes at his bare cheeks, but he's staring up at Michael with pleading eyes. _Let me in_.

Michael rushes from the window immediately and runs to throw open the back door. The freezing air rushes in, but it brings Gavin along with it, and Michael shoves it closed and bolts it as soon as Gavin's past the threshold. Gavin shivers violently in the tiny corridor, his breath wheezy, his teeth clicking incessantly. He's got no gloves or hat, just his boots, heavy jacket and scarf, and as a result his skin is red all over and starting to turn blue.

“What the hell are you doing out there so late?” Michael whispers quickly, even though he has the feeling the answer isn't something that Gavin will be able to act out. He pulls Gavin away from the door to his bedroom. “You can freeze your nose off at night, and that's only if some wraith doesn't get you first.”

Gavin gives him an apologetic look, and he keeps shivering in the middle of Michael's room. He watches Michael go around the room, dragging his extra blanket off his bed and collecting pieces of clothes.

“Take your stuff off,” Michael orders him. “This'll be warmer, you can wear it and not turn into a fucking ice block.”

Gavin's eyes flicker to the clothes, and then he makes a short motion with his hands – one flat, the other going across – and Michael almost drops the blanket.

“You want to write something?” Michael asks, just to make sure. Gavin nods, and Michael knows he's completely serious. It's in his eyes – along with something else, something troubling – and it has to be the only reason he would suddenly show up at Michael's window in the dead of night. “Just – okay, hold on, I'll go get something to write on.”

He leaves the clothes and blankets in Gavin's arms and leaves the room, tip toeing through the chilly house to find a pen and paper. When he returns to his room, Gavin has stripped off his boots and jacket and is huddled on the bed with Michael's blanket. His scarf remains around his neck, held in place by one hand.

Michael leaves the paper and pen with Gavin, relights the candle on his bedside table, and then sits next to Gavin with the little flame. “This is all I got,” he says carefully. He's eager to know just what Gavin finally wants to write, but he doesn't want to scare him. “What do you want to tell me so badly?”

Gavin adjusts his scarf before picking up the pen and settling the papers on his lap. He holds the pen over the paper, hesitating briefly to glance up at Michael before leaning over and starting to write.

He writes quickly in the dimness using only his thighs as a surface, but his words are neat, flowing from one to the next with practiced ease, and he doesn't look up, doesn't stop writing, until he only has one empty page left. He doesn't use that last page, just stops writing as suddenly as he started and drops the pen onto the blanket. He swallows, staring down at the drying ink, and then he pushes it toward Michael.

Michael hands his candle to Gavin to hold the sheets in both hands. He skims through the pages first, and then reads through it all carefully. He can't describe what he feels as he reads, but it isn't what he imagined – he thought the day Gavin actually wrote would give him relief, a quicker way of communication without the risk of fucking up Gavin's meanings.

The first words are, _My mom used to be a seamstress._

–

They lived somewhere far south, a life time away for someone like Michael, who's only ever known the tundra. Gavin doesn't remember it well. They lived near the ocean, a windy place with long beaches.

He was born mute. From the moment he took his first breath he's never made a sound, not a scream or a murmur. It was odd, something the doctor couldn't explain. Give it time, they said; he'll be screaming with the rest of the children soon.

He wasn't, though. The priest in their town took a look at him, and thought maybe a demon had taken his voice, or something was lurking in their home that scared him soundless. They tried to banish the spirit that had his voice, but that didn't work. After that his mother searched out whatever doctors she could afford, but they couldn't explain why he was mute, either. It happens sometimes, they told her. Teach him to write, talk with his hands.

His mother taught him to write, but she never gave up on finding his voice. The kids around him grew old enough to understand that he'd never speak and they made fun of him, and his mother told him not to worry, told him he has a beautiful voice, she just has to find a way to uncover it.

When he was six she became an alchemist, and she began to study the elements, searching for her answer. They lived near the ocean, a windy place bordered by water. Wind and water; for two years she studied them tirelessly. They needed to move after that, so they did.

They lived in a little town at the base of a mountain and she continued to study the elements there; earth and fire. The kids in that town played tricks on him when they found out he couldn't speak, couldn't sing a song or call for help when they kicked him. He stayed as close to his mother as he could, asked her on paper when he could talk, and every time she said, “Soon.”

They stayed there for another two years, and he pulled through the jeering from the kids and the whispers about curses from the elders. His mother studied another two elements. They needed to move again, and they did.

Lighting is a fickle element to study, though. They lived in a coastal town for a year, and then another year next to a valley. When he turned twelve, ice was the only remaining element, so they began their long journey north. As they left the valley town his mother told him about how close they were to finding his voice. Just ice was left, and then they could put it all together and use the secrets hidden in alchemy to find his voice.

Then she told her children not to tell anyone about his muteness. “The kids will make fun of you,” she said to him. “You're not like them and they won't like that you're special. The villagers will think you're cursed, just like the rest of them. We'll save ourselves the trouble this time. All they have to know is that you're a shy child, but only until we find your voice. Everyone will be able to hear your beautiful voice.”

And then they moved to one of the northernmost villages in the land, moved into the old house at the bottom of the hill, and Gavin and his siblings did as their mother said. The kids haven't learned that he's soundless and the adults think his shyness is odd, but no one asks further.

A year after they moved here, his mother succeeded in studying all six elements. She began digging deeper, discovering new possibilities as her skill with alchemy increased. She used to be a seamstress, but now she could create things, she could turn the snow to stone to water. She dug even deeper, explored everything she could reach, and then...

Sound. Somehow, she made sound.

She looked at him with a smile on her face and told him, “Come inside, I found your voice.”

–

Gavin is staring down at his lap when Michael gets to the last word. He's as tense as a stone, and for a moment Michael has no idea what to say. Gavin's mother is one of the only alchemists this village has ever seen, and her skills are an asset in the harsh environment around them, but...

He's no alchemist, and he's lived his life removed from a lot of what happens in the world south of his home, but there's still one thing Michael knows for sure about alchemy. Sure, change a stone to metal, there aren't any repercussions of that, but to use it on a human – unstable magic on a living person...

Michael finally tears his eyes from Gavin's writing. One of Gavin's hands is clenched tightly on the candle holder, and the other is holding his scarf in place. He swallows, almost doesn't want to ask, but he drags the sound out anyway as he takes the flame from his friend's shaking hand. “What happened... when she tried to give you a voice?”

Gavin doesn't respond right away. He grips the fraying green fabric around his neck tightly, fingers clenching around it, and then he looks at Michael with pain in his eyes. He pulls the scarf down, lets it fall from his shoulders as he drags the collar of his shirt down as well, and waits for Michael's reaction.

Michael almost drops the candle; at first he wants to think it's a trick of the light, but it's not. The skin around Gavin's neck is streaked with angry red marks, and his collar bones look burned – no, they _are_ burned – and it's all covered in what looks like medicinal balm. He's wearing a loose shirt and his jacket isn't done up right so that nothing touches the marks. Only then does Michael hear Gavin's wheezing for what it is.

His mother tried to give him a voice, used alchemy in the worst way, and now he's sitting on Michael's bed while every breath brings him pain.

“It didn't work,” Michael croaks.

Gavin licks him lips and then purses them together. He hunches over, pressing his hands over his eyes as he shakes his head. No, no... He makes a strange choking sound, takes a shuddering breath and tries to speak again, but all he can do is make that same awful sound over and over. Michael cringes.

He tosses the pages to the floor, leaves the candle on the nightstand, and turns to Gavin with his arms wide. Gavin leans away from him at first, bunches his shoulders up to protect his neck, but then he hisses as his jacket collar presses against his wounds and his shoulders drop. Michael leans over and wraps his arms around him carefully, avoiding his neck as best he can.

“'M sorry,” he whispers against Gavin's ear. It doesn't help; Gavin tries to shake him off and Michael catches the shape of his lips, his fingers moving like they can somehow pull the words out – _Just wanted a voice._ _Want a voice_. He feels stupid; nothing he can say will make Gavin feel any better... but he still tries. “I'm really sorry.”

Gavin only lets Michael hug him for another few seconds, and then he pulls away and falls back on the bed. There's dampness on his face, but he's not crying anymore as he huddles under the blanket, giving Michael that same pleading expression as he did outside.

“You wanna stay here tonight?” Michael asks, already knowing the answer. Gavin nods, and then removes his coat, bundles it into a ball, and moves to one side of the bed, almost pressing himself against the wall so that Michael can lie down, too. Michael gets backs under the blankets as Gavin wraps his scarf loosely around his neck again before turning to his side, trying to find a comfortable way to sleep on his coat as a pillow.

The room is quiet again when they're both settled, only the whistling of the wind and Gavin's careful breathing making any sound. Michael stares at the ceiling, reluctant to put the candle out. He wants to know why Gavin chose to come here, why now. Is it because he was hurting too much before? Michael knows the marks on his skin will scar. Will Gavin just keep hiding them?

“Gav,” Michael whispers. Gavin's back is to him, but he gives a tiny nod. Michael licks his lips, wondering if he's even going to get an answer. “Are you... are you going to tell anyone?”

Gavin's breath stills for a split second. He shakes his head slowly, seeming to curl up even tighter under the blanket. Michael blinks rapidly, trying to find words, a reply to that unexpected answer. Then Gavin reaches behind him, finds Michael's hand and pats it softly, and that throws him off even more. It's a clear gesture – _don't worry about it_ – and he wants to ask _why?_ After all that, _why not_? But Gavin's already retracting his hand and pulling the blanket up higher, another clear message. He just wants to sleep.

So Michael turns his head back to the ceiling, biting his lip. He doesn't keep asking why, doesn't give Gavin the last lank page and the pen. Gavin won't answer that question. He'll tell Michael his story, the big secret his family had been keeping now that it had all fallen apart... but now there's something else he's hiding, and Michael thinks he already knows what that is.

He reaches over and pinches the tiny flame on the nightstand, turns the room pitch black again. It's warmer under the blanket with Gavin in the bed, too, but Michael still feels chills. He shakes them away, gets as comfortable as he can while his body is threatening to roll right off his side of the bed, and closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, light spills into the room through the window and he hears the sound of one of his parents throwing wood into the fire place. He sits up slowly, an ugly feeling in his gut. Gavin is gone, and so is the story he wrote. All that's left is that empty page, and it now has one sentence scribbled across it.

_Knock on the back window later, and we can go sit on the hill._

–

Michael isn't sure what time “later” is supposed to be, but it ends up being in the late afternoon, just after he returns from hunting in the forest. He returns home just long enough to drop his bow and arrows and then he's gone again, making his way through the village to the house at the bottom of the hill. He knows its secret now, and when he looks at it, it gives him an odd feeling.

He almost wants to start avoiding it again.

He doesn't, though. He glances over his shoulder as he makes his way around the back, the village falling out of sight. There's a door and a curtained window there, but he doesn't need to knock on either, because Gavin's face is already pressed against the glass. He waves to Michael quickly, and presses his hand against the window pane. _Wait there_. Michael nods, and he stands against the wall under the sill. The door opens a few moments later, and Gavin slips out, properly dressed this time. He seems a bit wary as he approaches Michael, his eyes flickering to the dagger that's still attached to his belt.

“We just got back from a hunting trip,” Michael explains.

Gavin shakes his head – _not that_ – and points to the hill. He starts walking, and Michael follows, the icy wind biting his cheeks. They climb slowly, shoving snow out of their way with their feet until they get to the top. The tundra stretches out below them, the village behind them. It's eerie up here, but at the same time it's calm. It doesn't last.

“Why won't you tell anyone?” Michael finally asks. He tries to meet his friend's eyes, but Gavin just stares at his feet. Then he crouches down and drags his finger through the snow.

_She's my mother._

Michael reads the words carefully, and he finds two meanings in the words. One is obvious, he understands it completely. But the other sets him on edge, and it makes him wonder why Gavin really called him out here.

The villagers could go as far as exile the mysterious alchemist if they find out, but Isaac's old enough to take care his siblings. If their mother is forced to leave, Gavin and Alice will have to make the choice to stay or go with her. That's only if people find out, though.

On the other hand... Gavin's mother has spent nearly ten years trying to find her son's voice. Ten years of alchemy and moving around to find the answers for the sake of her son.

Gavin adds more, still not looking at Michael. _I don't want to give up on her._

Doesn't want to give up on finding a voice, is what he means. Michael stares down at the words for a few seconds, and then lifts his face to the sky. The wind blows harsh, and for a moment he thinks he hears a whisper as he searches for words, but there's nothing.

“You don't have to give up,” he says, swallowing. “I mean – it doesn't matter.”

Gavin is standing again, and he's giving Michael a confused expression. _What do you mean?_

“It doesn't fucking matter,” Michael repeats firmly. He clenches his fists, hopes he can make Gavin understand. “Not to me. This kind of alchemy is bad, Gavin, you have to know that! You don't have to risk all of this because – because you already have a voice, you get it?”

Gavin's confusion just seems to grow. He shakes his head, hurt in his eyes, and gestures to his lips.

“No, I mean,” Michael grabs his shoulders, runs his hands down Gavin's arms to his hand. “This. You don't have to speak, Gavin, you... you can already talk. This is your voice.”

Gavin squeezes Michael's hands gently, then turns his head to look over the village, the dark figures moving about.

“You're worried about everyone else,” Michael says softly.

 _They made fun of me if I came near them_ , Gavin had written last night. _Some of them pushed me around because I couldn't tell them off._

“They won't,” Michael tells him. “They won't hurt you, I'll make sure of it. Just give them time, they'll understand it. I can help you, Gavin, I want to help you.”

Gavin closes his eyes, and Michael can feel his hands trembling. He meet's Michael's eyes again, shaking head slowly.

Michael frowns. “What is so wrong about that?”

Another glance at the village, at the house at the bottom of the hill. Gavin nibbles his lip for a few seconds and takes a deep breath, swallows. Then he leans forward and presses their lips together, and Michael's eyes go wide, stunned. It's just a chaste kiss, with Gavin's nose bumping against his and his lips cold as the wind, and when he pulls away a couple seconds later he crouches down again and begins writing in the snow. Michael watches him, and the coldness on his lips seems to spread all over his body.

“Leaving,” he chokes out as Gavin stands. Gavin nods once, and now Michael can read the emotions on his face clearer than ever. The odd reluctance in everything he does, the anger – with himself or with everyone else, Michael doesn't know – and the conflict in his eyes.

He's saying good bye.

“Why?” Michael asks, his thoughts rushed. He doesn't want Gavin to leave, doesn't want him to end up risking everything for his voice. It's a selfish thought, but he can't help but be worried. “Do you think you're going to be able to find something other than alchemy to help you? Something that's probably even more fucking dangerous?”

Gavin keeps his eyes trained on his feet as he approaches Michael again and wraps his arms around his shoulders, pats the back of his neck. _It'll be okay_.

Michael shakes his head. “You don't know that. Gavin, you can't...”

He trails off as Gavin pulls away, his eyes hooded by his frown. _Don't tell me that_.

“Look, I know it's easy for me to say because I'm not mute, but – but that doesn't mean you should...” He stops again, because Gavin's expression only gets darker. It's not working. Finally, he lets out a sigh and says, “I just don't want anything to happen to you.”

Gavin's face softens a little. He looks apologetic, like he thinks that saying sorry will wipe everything away. Michael almost can't believe it. A week ago, he and Gavin were standing outside next to his house with one animated conversation after another. Now there's dread in Michael's gut, the knowledge that this conversation on the hill in this hissing wind is one of their last.

“What if you leave and you think you find something, and you get hurt even more?” Michael asks, gesturing to the wounds hidden under the scarf around Gavin's neck. “What the hell am I supposed to do then, huh? What if you end up losing even more?”

Gavin contemplates this, his eyes straying back to the houses below. Then he reaches for Michael's hand and holds it against his chest with one of his own. He draws pictures and words in the air between them with his other, a small smile on his face. _I'll come back_.

Michael tries to be uplifted, but it's hard. “What if you don't come back at all?”

There's a moment of silence where Gavin only rubs Michael's hand through his heavy gloves, tries to be as reassuring as he can. Michael doesn't feel any better. If anything, he feels worse.

He's hurt – he understands why there was so much secrecy around Gavin's life, gets why Gavin never wrote something down once until last night, when everything had gone to shit. But now he feels like he's been punched again, because why would Gavin tell someone his entire goddamn story if he's just throwing it away now?

“Nothing I say is going to make you change you mind, is it?” He asks, defeated. Gavin's expression falls, and that's all the answer he needs. He pulls his hand away with a quiet sigh and takes a step back, speaking flatly. “That's why we're out here isn't it, so you can say good bye?”

Gavin gives him the tiniest nod. A sad thing.

“Fine, I hear you. If you're not even going to at least think about it,” Michael takes another step back. The wind blows around them, icy and hard, like it's trying to push them down the hill again. “Good luck with that, then. I hope whatever you find works better than what you found here.”

He turns around and starts trudging back through the snow for the village. Gavin might be trying to call him back, but all that comes out is that rattling sound, that faint, cracking hiss that always comes out when he tries to speak. Or maybe he isn't making any sound at all, and all Michael's hearing is the low whistle on the wind as it blows past his ears.

Whichever it is, Michael doesn't look back to check, won't even glance over his shoulder. He doesn't want to see Gavin standing on the top of the hill. He doesn't want to drag it out. Gavin doesn't follow him, either, probably for the same reason. He's made his point, said his good bye, and that's that.

Stupid Gavin, he thinks. Stupid, dumb Gavin doesn't even care about anything here. No, he just wants his voice. Well, Michael's not going to stop him. He keeps walking, tracking through the path they made earlier, and he wills himself to keep his sights straight, to not look back.

But he only manages to keep himself walking for a couple moments, only for the amount of time it takes to get half way back down the hill, and then he stops, because it's only when he gets that far away that he realizes something is wrong. Very, very wrong. The hissing sounds, the whispers in the gusts...

And then the wind stops, and there are two seconds of silence before he hears an earsplitting shriek behind him. A high pitched sound from the top of the hill, and Michael hopes it isn't the thing he _knows_ it is, but when he turns around he sees it there, looming over Gavin, who's frozen to the spot.

An ice wraith. A tall, skeletal thing made out of ice and snow and wisps of frozen wind, hovering there with its claws curled around Gavin's arm – a wraith about to make a kill.

The thought isn't even finished before Michael's bolting, climbing back up the hill as fast as he can. Gavin isn't a hunter, doesn't know how to properly use a weapon, let alone fight off an ice wraith. And Michael really should be going the other way, going to get help – but he doesn't have _time_ for that.

The wraith is trying to lift Gavin off the ground by the time Michael gets there, dagger in hand, but Gavin's finally started moving again, and he's struggling against the creature, kicking and beating his fists against its hands.

“ _Get away!_ ” Michael screams, plunging his dagger into the thing's wrist. Something cracks and steam rises up as the iron burns its papery skin. The wraith reels back with a screech and drops Gavin, a weird blue liquid oozing from its wound. It hisses angrily at Michael, but as soon as he raises his dagger again it disappears, disintegrates into dozens of pieces. Then the wind is blowing again and the particles are being carried back to the tundra.

It was there the whole time, he realizes. It was just waiting for them to turn around, for Gavin to be alone so it could... Gavin.

He's lying in the snow next to Michael, clutching his arm to his chest and wheezing. There's a frosty imprint on his sleeve from the wraith's claws, and Michael knows he can feel the terrible cold even through all his layers.

“It didn't touch your skin, did it?” He asks, kneeling down. Gavin's lips are a little blue and he shivering a lot, but he looks fine otherwise. He shakes his head and Michael lets his breath go. “Good. You're okay, Gav, you're fine.”

Gavin's eyes are still wide, though. He glances at the village again, and then points at Michael, at the ground beneath them. _You came back_.

“What?” Michael frowns. “Of course I came back, you idiot. I'm not going to let you get hurt when I'm right fucking here.”

His response seems to surprise Gavin, and he looks sheepish for a few seconds. Then he's pushing himself up and hugging Michael with as much strength as he can muster in one arm, his head buried in Michael's shoulder. The weight throws Michael off, and the numbness in his body makes it harder to regain his balance.

A part of him wants to return the embrace. The rest is just... cold.

“Let's go,” he murmurs, sheathing his dagger. “That thing is going to be back, and we don't want to be here when it does.”

Gavin pulls away and nods once. Michael watches the tundra over his shoulder as they stand slowly, searches for any sign of the angry wraith. There's nothing, though. Just the empty field, and an eerie whistle in the wind.

Gavin shivers badly as they climb down from the hill carefully. He's still green, Michael thinks. Still a southern boy.

Maybe it's better that he leaves this place after all.

–

Gavin disappears in his house again after that. Probably packing up whatever shit he has, Michael tells himself bitterly. Then they'll be gone. He tries not to worry, and that gets more and more difficult as he thinks about where Gavin will be next year, the year after that.

He wonders where Gavin will go now, how he'll keep his secrets in that place. He wonders if Gavin will reach out to anyone, if someone will befriend him, or if he'll just stay in the shadows. Michael knows people will talk about him behind his back wherever he goes, talk about the weird kid with staring eyes who refuses to speak to anyone.

They'll find out eventually, Michael thinks. They found out before, and the attempt to keep the secret here was pretty much useless. He's pretty sure the adults already know – they just won't say anything – and no one else wants to get close enough to figure it out.

It's going to be awful. Michael wishes Gavin could see that. It's going to be awful, and probably dangerous. All Gavin wants is his voice, though. He doesn't need Michael or this little town in the north.

And Michael doesn't need him, either. He doesn't need to go check to see why Gavin's gone, he already has Isaac and Alice and his mother. If he's going to leave, Michael will let him do what he wants. He doesn't interfere after that morning, just tells the hunters to look out for an injured wraith in the tundras and tells himself not to go looking around the house at the bottom of the hill again. Whatever he does wouldn't work anyway...

But then three days later – after he's convinced himself to leave the alchemist's house alone – someone taps on his bedroom window with a stick in the middle of the night.

–

He tries to tell himself to stay in bed at first, but that only lasts for a short time. Then he pushes the blankets back and stands on the end of his bed to see out the window properly, and there he is, standing there with a stick in his hands. He's properly dressed this time, although that doesn't explain why he's here at all.

Michael reacts quickly, though, getting down and going to the door. A part of it might be because Gavin seems... different from their last encounter. But not the same “different” Michael's used to.

Gavin steps inside almost reluctantly, as if he unsure about whether or not Michael's actually inviting him in, even though that's the only reason Michael would have the door open to the cold for more than two seconds.

“Is something wrong?” Michael asks quietly when they're back in his room. He lights his candle and turns to Gavin, who's shaking his head. “What is it, then?”

Gavin's expression is inquisitive as he makes short gestures, forming a question with his hands. His movements get shyer as he goes, points to himself and the room around them until Michael understands.

“You want to stay here again.”

Gavin slowly removes his hat and scarf, holding them in his hands tightly as he nods once. _Please?_

Michael's first thought is _why?_ Why come back here after he said good bye? Then he looks closer, squinting and holding the candle higher. Gavin's shoulders are up – like a shrug he never got finished – and his lips are pursed, his head tilted down. There's something else in that, in his eyes. His body language says he's nervous, but his eyes have more resolve – he doesn't break eye contact with Michael.

He'll leave if he's told to, Michael realizes. He'll go back home... but then he'll come back.

_I hear you. I hear you._

He feels a shiver go through his bones, a flash of coldness. Not from the temperature of his room; he thinks about the tundra, the hill three days ago. That ice wraith that could have killed Gavin. Its shriek and the rattle in the back of Gavin's throat.

 _I hear you_.

“Do you want to stay here?” Michael asks carefully, just more than a whisper.

Gavin nods again. He holds his hat and scarf in his elbow and makes a walking motion with his fingers, shakes his head. _I don't want to leave._

“But you told me...” Michael pauses to swallow, take a breath. Not that he wants to push his limits, but he wants to make sure. “I thought there wasn't anything left here for you. That's what you said, isn't it? Answers aren't here, Gavin.”

Gavin's shoulders finally drop, and his expression says he agrees with Michael, but then he stares down at his empty hands, curls his fingers a few times slowly. He presses them against his collar briefly, then his lips, and then starts making nonsensical gestures. When Michael doesn't say anything, his fingers stop, falling to his sides. He closes his eyes, lets out a long breath, and then he holds a hand over his chest, makes a small circle with a contrite face.

_I'm sorry._

“You changed your mind,” Michael says. “Why?”

Gavin gives him a small smile, like he should already know the answer, and he moves to stand next to Michael and hug him around the shoulders. Michael lets out a breathy laugh and rests his free hand on Gavin's arm.

“What about your ma? And the alchemy?”

Gavin shakes his head, and Michael almost rolls his eyes. He hasn't gotten that far yet. All he knows is that he had to wake Michael in the middle of the night again to tell him this.

Michael's not complaining. The bitterness in his chest feels lighter, giving way to relief, and he takes a step back to place the candle on the nightstand before really hugging Gavin.

“I was gonna hate you,” he says into Gavin's shoulder. “It's stupid, but I really was.”

Gavin pulls away just enough to repeat his apology.

“We can figure it out,” Michael tells him, already trying to think of what they could tell people. Maybe those who are already suspicious won't care, and if somebody does try to hurt Gavin... Well, he'll make sure that just doesn't happen. Yes. Good plan, solid. “I still want to help you.”

Gavin nods, looking close to tears. He tugs Michael into another hug, and Michael squeezes back gently before stepping back. He takes the hat and scarf from Gavin's hand and Gavin tugs his heavy boots off, and then just like he did four nights ago, he rolls his coat into a ball and crawls to one side of Michael's bed, leaving just enough room for Michael to lay down next to him.

“Don't just get up and leave this time,” Michael says seriously as he pulls the blankets up. “At least wake me up first, just so I know that... you're not actually going anywhere.”

Gavin takes his hand again and pats it – _It's okay_ – and this time, Michael can close his eyes without worrying about the shadow behind Gavin's back for the first time since they began to speak. It isn't gone by any means, but now he knows that Gavin finally trusts him enough to help, because when Michael opens his eyes in the early morning, Gavin is still there.

They wake up before most of the village, and Michael leaves his house and crosses to the other side of the snowy streets with Gavin, but they don't go to the hill this time. Instead, they stand next to Gavin's house again, and Gavin slowly starts returning to his old self with shy stories. A few days pass before the hunters deal with the ice wraith for good, and Gavin is still there when they do.

They stand on top of the hill in the mornings and Gavin tells Michael once more about his fears, and Michael assures him that he doesn't need to worry about what anyone will say. He has to say it multiple times, but eventually Gavin takes a steady breath and agrees to let Michael lead him back down to the village, past the shadow of his house.

He doesn't run away, and Michael catches the alchemist watching from her window as they stand before the other kids in the village. Everyone knows by now who the alchemist's son is, but at the same time, none of them know a thing about him. They're still wary of him after all this time, even with what Alice and Isaac have told them, but Gavin finally stands in front of them, opens his mouth, and says... nothing. Everything.

And Michael stands with him. Even when some of them don't accept the boy without a voice, he makes sure none of them can hurt him, because the shadow that's hanged over Gavin for years is finally starting to fade and he's not letting it ever come back. 


End file.
